


Watchdog

by elentari7



Series: We are the heroes (of our time) [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bastion Hartford, Gen, Les Misérables References, Superpowers, Wayell University, Windsong/the rulebook, also rather obsessed with musicals, college kids being a pain in the ass, nothing to see here officer, you know that one irritating nickname that despite your best efforts sticks to this day...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:18:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elentari7/pseuds/elentari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Cet homme était composé de deux sentiments très simples, et relativement très bons, mais qu'il faisait presque mauvais à force de les exagérer: le respect de l'autorité, la haine de la rébellion; et à ses yeux le vol, le meurtre, tous les crimes, n'étaient que des formes de la rébellion. ... Il couvrait de mépris, d'aversion et de dégoût tout ce qui avait franchi une fois le seuil légal du mal. Il était absolu et n'admettait pas d'exceptions.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“This man was composed of two very simple and two very good sentiments, comparatively; but he rendered them almost bad, by dint of exaggerating them,—respect for authority, hatred of rebellion; and in his eyes, murder, robbery, all crimes, are only forms of rebellion. ... He covered with scorn, aversion, and disgust every one who had once crossed the legal threshold of evil. He was absolute, and admitted no exceptions.” -- <em>Les Misérables</em>, Vol. I, Book V, Ch. 5</p><p> <br/>Or, the acquisition of unwanted nicknames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watchdog

**Author's Note:**

> Time frame: spring 2013 to fall 2014
> 
> Setting: Hartford, CT, a seat of the governmental cape organization Bastion, and also a center of cape gang and vigilante activity, near the noted cape-friendly Wayell University

She makes a point of being scrupulously vigilant on her patrol rotations. Someone has to be, after all. But particular alertness is hardly necessary when the cape who crosses your path wears a bright purple costume.

 _That_ one.

Sarah narrows her eyes at the immediately recognizable vigilante. A minor hypnotist, she thinks to herself darkly, has no need of subtlety.

The other, dark-haired, girl (and fellow-student, Sarah is sure, who is almost always seen with Sirene though what she calls herself or what she does is still unknown) notices the approaching figure in Bastion uniform first. She nudges Sirene into looking in the right direction.

Sirene recognizes her, and beams.

Sarah seethes. _College kids_.

“Why, hello there, Officer Windsong, ma’am!” Sirene exclaims. Sarah recoils from the sound of her voice, though she hasn’t yet felt any compulsion.

“Using powers to oppose, disable, or deflect an officer of the law,” she hisses, “is more than enough grounds for arrest—”

“Officer, I wouldn’t!” The girl puts a hand to her heart. “We’re not _actually_ criminals.”

She heaves a regretful sigh at this. Her partner gives her a _look_ discernible even through her mask.

“You’re vigilantes,” Sarah snaps back. “Children playing with fire, one step from the line between extralegal and illegal.” She focuses her most chilling glare on the both of them. One of these days it’ll work. “And the second you take that step—the second you cross that line—rest assured, I will be there—”

“There's really no need, I'm sure we'll--" begins the dark-haired girl, only to be thrust aside by Sirene’s outstretched, spangled arm.

Sarah can make neither head nor tail of what happens next.

“BEFORE YOU SAY ANOTHER WORD, JAVERT,” the girl bawls.

Sarah blinks.

“BEFORE YOU LOCK ME UP LIKE A SLAVE AGAIN, LISTEN TO ME, THERE IS SOMETHING I MUST DO.”

Sarah is somewhat mollified to see Sirene’s partner staring at her flatly (her face is sufficiently concealed, but the set of her eyebrows screams _really???_ and she is mouthing something emphatically which Sirene completely ignores.) Before Sarah can gather herself sufficiently to point out, coldly, that her name is not Javert, that she has not _yet_ locked Sirene or her friend up but will certainly do so if necessary, and that there is _absolutely nothing_ a college student _must_ be doing in Hartford at nearly midnight, Sirene seizes her partner and shoves her forward almost into Sarah’s face.

“THIS WOMAN LEAVES BEHIND A SUFFERING CHILD!” she howls. “THERE IS NONE BUT ME WHO CAN INTERCEDE—IN MERCY’S NAME, THREE DAYS ARE ALL I NEEEEEEEED.”

She shakes her friend as if to make her point. Her friend flails her hands in half-hearted protest.

“You think obstruction is funny,” Sarah notes coolly. “Mockery, rather, of the lawful—”

“No, no, no!” Sirene throws her hands in the air. “That is _not_ your line. _Your_ line is, YOU MUST THINK ME MAD! MEN LIKE YOU—although I am not in fact a man—”

“Sirene,” the dark-haired girl says, in the tone of one who has had this conversation before. She seems much the more reasonable of the two, so far.

“Bunny, darling, you _cannot_ tell me this was inappropriate! This was _eminently_ appropriate!”

“You skipped Valjean’s lines,” Bunny says in exasperation, and Sarah wants to tear her own hair. “Again.”

“Did I?”

“ _Then I’ll return, I pledge my word…_ ”

“Ohhhhh that bit.”

“And you said _lock_ instead of _chain_.”

“They’re practically the same!”

“You called me Bunny _in front of a police officer_.”

“It suits you!”

“That is not the point. …You still don’t know Valjean’s part at all, do you?”

“Well, you do! And you are right here! This seems like a situation we can work with.”

“You already used me as Fantine.”

“Let’s switch, it’ll be more fun than being the corpse. C’mon! VALJEAN, AT LAST, WE SEE EACH OTHER PLAIN! MONSIEUR LE MAIRE, YOU WEAR A DIFFERENT CHAAAAAAAIIIIIN—”

“ _Before you say another word, Javert,_ ” Bunny picks up, still rolling her eyes, but at least managing to clearly communicate that the words are actually meant to be sung to a melody, “ _before you chain me up like a slave again, listen to me, there is something I must do…_ ”

Sarah knows she should be doing something to put a stop to this ridiculousness, but is quite honestly at a complete and utter loss as to what. She can hardly slap cuffs on two young women for singing in the street.

Not that she isn’t painfully tempted.

(At some point they start singing over each other and Sarah has to resist the urge to blow out every window on the block.)

The song ends with Bunny punching Sirene in the face—or rather, Sirene grabbing Bunny’s arm and swinging it in the general direction of her face, while the other girl laughs so hard that they both nearly fall over.

“Are you quite finished?” Sarah asks, in her coldest, most authoritative voice.

“Quite, Inspector.” Sirene gives an elaborate bow.

“I am not an _inspector_ , I am the commanding officer of Bastion Hartford, which you would do well to remember—”

“Wait, did you…not know what was going on that entire time?” Sirene sounds mildly impressed, but it is quickly replaced by glee. “Wow, that must’ve been weird. Don’t you ever go to the theatre?” She pronounces _theatre_ in an exaggeratedly preposterous British manner. “Where- _ever_ is your culture?”

“Aaaaand we should be going.” Bunny tugs at her friend’s violently purple sleeve, not trying very hard to sound unamused. “Before we harass the nice lady more than we already have."

“Must we?” Sirene wheedles, as Sarah sp— _absolutely does not sputter_ in rage.

“Some of us have morning classes.”

“Wretched creatures.” Sirene heaves another dramatic sigh. “Well, Inspector, you are very welcome for the performance, but we must bid you good night.” She links arms with Bunny and has the both of them sauntering past down the block before Sarah gets her words back.

“You watch your step!” she calls after them, immediately wanting to kick a wall for how pathetic that sounds. “Cross the line _once_ —”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sirene tosses over her shoulder, leaning back to look at Sarah before they turn the corner. “ _Inspector Javert_.”

Bunny rolls her eyes again and tugs her friend away. (She ducks back around the corner to mouth a quick "sorry", but she's still smiling.)

Sarah is going to see those troublemaking Wayell kids behind bars if it _kills_ her.

 

***

 

The next time she has the misfortune to run into the Pride on patrol, Sirene and the girl she calls Bunny are both present, but have a couple of others with them. Both are recognizable members of the college-age cape group—Briar, who manipulates plants, and the Lieutenant, a short girl who insists on inserting a British "f" into her moniker and seems to specialize in stealth. They’re chatting as they stroll, the subject of conversation apparently--Sarah’s spine stiffens--the Lieutenant’s potential capability as a serial killer.

“You did say I would be great at it,” the short girl points out to Bunny.

“I was _sleep deprived_ when I said that.”

“Anahita, some of our deepest insight comes at times when we really ought to be asleep. You know this.”

(Sarah is a bit relieved to have something less ridiculous than “Bunny” to call the girl, though Bunny may end up being easier to pronounce. She’s also relieved to not have to actually worry about a serial killer, though simultaneously more annoyed than ever with these cocky, blasé _children_.)

Sirene is the first to see and recognize her this time. Sarah feels her teeth grinding together involuntarily before a word is even spoken.

“Good evening, dear inspector, lovely evening my dear!” the girl chirps in a cheery, sing-song, childlike rhythm.

Sarah flinches again, but feels no compulsion; Sirene doesn’t need to sing to use her power, so it’s probably just an irritation tactic. Like the last time she called her Inspector. _Not a criminal offense_ , she reminds herself forcefully, with savage disappointment.

It’s clearly recognizable to her companions, though, because Briar gives Sirene her own rendition of the _really???_ look, and the Lieutenant literally falls over laughing.

Anahita goes to laugh, pat Briar on the back, and catch the falling girl at the same time.

Sarah turns on her heel and doesn’t stay to see how that ends, but she hears a raucous burst of laughter behind her.

 

***

 

The summer months are blissfully Wayell-free, and Sarah even gets halfway through October without her shifts coinciding with the Pride’s late-night appearances. It is, of course, too good to last. When she finally runs across them again, they’re out in full force.

This in itself is suspicious. Although the last time she tried to pin them down for something like this they had claimed it was initiation night, and she could find no evidence to the contrary. She sighs, already feeling the headache coming on. It _is_ that time of year again.

She heads for them purposefully anyway, determined to be thorough, because again, someone must. “What’s this?” she calls out sharply. If it really is an initiation into the Hartford cape community, better to make an imposing impression of Bastion on the new members as soon as possible. She can tell who the new ones are by who actually whips around to face her, searching for the unrecognized voice. The rest of them move much more casually, grinning at each other the while. “What are you lot up to this time?”

“Oh it was tragic!” Sirene—of fucking course—replies quickly. “Tragically beautiful! Beautifully tragic! You should have been there! Angels wept!” A strenuously suppressed giggle runs through the group and sets Sarah’s teeth on edge. “We don’t know if we’ll ever be the same. In fact, we must disperse immediately to our domiciles to contemplate the experience in solitude, reevaluating our sense of purpose and understanding of the universe. I’m sure you understand.”

“No one is going anywhere,” Sarah says loudly, “until I get an explanation.”

“You need an explanation for a group of young capes hanging out in _Hartford_?” a new girl with tightly bound dark hair, a dark mask, and a loose dark costume says skeptically. Clearly Sarah’s gotten to them too late. There’s no hope of instilling respect in this batch.

“Technically Sirene’s given you an explanation,” Briar points out. “It’s a question of whether you understood it or not.”

“You couldn’t understand it!” Sirene breaks back in, hands flying dangerously close to Anahita’s face. Anahita does not so much as blink. “Couldn’t, I tell you! You weren’t there! We can’t describe it! Some of us may never recover! We must get them help as soon as possible!”

Sarah barely notices her fingernails digging into her palms. Her hands are already half-numb from her Herculean attempt at self-restraint. “You all look in perfect health to me, so excuse me if I do not—”

“It’s an _inner_ transformation,” another new member with close-cropped hair interjects, with what must be meant as evocative hand gestures, at the same time as Sirene says “Can you not see?”

There is a brief pause while the kids all look at each other, figuring out whose lead to follow.

The new member must cede to Sirene, because she almost immediately continues, “ _How_ can you not see?”

“You—”

“LOOK DOWN, JAVERT,” she bellows, “HE’S STANDING IN HIS GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE!”

The entire group looks around frantically for a male member of the Pride.

The boy they single out—one Sarah recognizes, though no one has figured out what he does and his name seems to change every few weeks—swoons elegantly on cue into the crop-haired new girl, who’s standing right next to him. She catches him in her arms. “Gerard, no! Hold on, Gerard!”

“See, we really must be going, this could be dire,” Sirene chirps. “Good night, dearest Inspector Javert!” The Pride bunches together apparently trying to all help carry Gerard away at once. One of them even duplicates herself a few times to contribute to the group effort. He ends up crowdsurfing down the street at an alarming clip.

Sarah takes a few deep, calming breaths as the group disappears around the corner.

That name is seriously getting on her nerves.

 

***

 

It is not the last time she meets the Pride that year, nor the last time Sirene calls her Inspector Javert. Sarah would rather eat all of Alejandro’s leftover lunches that have accumulated in the office fridge over the course of six months than ask her colleagues to explain the reference, so she finally, begrudgingly, furtively—and certainly not at work—checks the Wikipedia page.

To be obsessed with a near-stranger for decades, to become suicidal at the final hurdle, to _sing_ about the whole ridiculous affair—the very idea.

When she is once again out on patrol on what turns out to be the Pride’s initiation night—just her luck, really—many familiar capes are missing. Graduated, she realizes. A quick scan ascertains that Sirene is among the alumni. Thank God she will never have to deal with that nickname again.

Ballast is among the new members, though. Jack had mentioned that. Sarah glares at her. The girl glares right back.

“Nice night for a walk,” offers SlapDash, whose hair has started to grow out over the summer.

“Is that what you’re doing, three blocks down from the gang fight that was just called in?”

“There was a gang fight?” SlapDash puts a hand to her mouth in affected shock. “In _Hartford_? Don’t let us keep you, you should check up on that right away—”

“And let possible participants get away?” Sarah snorts. “You’re all coming with me to the scene.”

There are groans of protest, but Animalia—the one with Sidekick training, Sarah doesn’t know what she’s doing with these delinquents, and apparently one of the new leaders in the absence of the previous generation—says placatingly, “Of course, officer. We’ll do what we can to help.”

Sarah grunts and shoulders past them, leading the way to Hartford’s main intersection. She studiously ignores Ballast, who by accident or by design has been shuffled to the center of the crowd.

The intersection is empty, when they arrive. There’s not so much as a stray tire mark on the pavement.

Noctua, adjusting her dark owlish mask, clears her throat. “In the absence of a victim,” she says, clasping her hands and giving a little half-bow, “dear inspector, may we go?”

Sarah stares at her in blank horror, barely registering the chuckles shared by the old contingent and the looks of utter confusion passing between the new members.

Noctua straightens up cheerfully. “We’ll take that as a yes! Pleasure, as always, Javert.”

The sounds of the Pride laughing—and _singing_ , goddammit—fades into the distance before Sarah allows herself to bury her face in her hands.

It is  _never going away._

**Author's Note:**

> People who made this story happen:  
> \- [ akitcougar ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/akitcougar/pseuds/akitcougar), who is building this world.  
> \- [ Tequila_Mockingbird ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tequila_Mockingbird/pseuds/Tequila_Mockingbird) and [ SecondSecret ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSecret/pseuds/SecondSecret), who inspired the content of this story.  
> \- Victor Hugo, who wrote a Big Damn Novel. (...and Schönberg and Boublil, I guess? since they made it into a Big Damn Musical?)
> 
> Cast in order of appearance:  
> \- Sarah Feller aka **Windsong** , air manipulation; 25 in 2013, head of Bastion Hartford  
> \- (Anne)Taylor Muckenfuss aka **Sirene** , mild hypnosis/voice which compels one to listen; Wayell student, class of 2014  
> \- Zarina B. Hoshyar aka **Anahita** aka **Bunny** (if you are Taylor), pain transfer via singing; Wayell student, class of 2014  
>  \- Rose “Wells” Wellington aka **Briar** , plant manipulation; Wayell student, class of 2014  
> \- Danielle “Dani” Ashbourne, aka **The Lieutenant** (pronounced Leftenant, as per British English), sensing of hostile/negative intent; Wayell student, class of 2013  
>  \- Leah Rebekah Krisevich aka **Noctua** , enhanced perception (esp. sight) & proprioception; Wayell student, class of 2016  
> \- Roxanne “Roxie” [REDACTED] aka **SlapDash** , teleportation; Wayell student, class of 2017  
> \- Matt Simons aka **Gerard** (this week), not powered (unless you count driving people nuts trying to figure out what the hell his power is); Wayell student, class of 2015  
>  \- (not named) Spencer Claire Evans aka **Legion** , self-duplication (with proportionately reduced levels of cognitive ability in duplicates); Wayell student, class of 2015  
> \- (mentioned) Alejandro Luis Montero Ortega aka **Hotshot** , pyrokinesis; 22 in 2014, junior member of Bastion Hartford  
> \- Kit Carson aka **Ballast** , formerly **Bonecrusher** , mass/gravity manipulation and blunt force resistance; paroled ex-teen-villain, current Wayell student, class of 2018  
> \- (mentioned) Jack Hsu aka **Komodo** , pyrokinesis and scale armor; 34 in 2014, senior member of Bastion Hartford  
> \- Katelyn Ormont aka **Animalia** , shapeshifting; former participant in Sidekicks program, current Wayell student, class of 2017


End file.
